


I will not say the day is done, nor bid the stars farewell

by phantomlistener



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Minor canon divergence, Post-Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Shieldmaidens, The Houses of Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: Against all odds, the battle had been won, and all those in Minas Tirith rejoiced - save perhaps the Lady Éowyn, alone in the Houses of Healing.Her time in that place was perhaps not quite as the histories would have us believe.
Relationships: Éowyn/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	I will not say the day is done, nor bid the stars farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RipplesOfAqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipplesOfAqua/gifts).



> Title from Tolkien's "[In western lands](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/In_Western_Lands)".

It was in the last hour of the afternoon, five days since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields had been won, that the shield-maiden Aelfhild, released at last from the care of the healers where she had lain since the battle's end, found the lady Éowyn in the Houses of Healing, and went gladly to her side. “You are sorely missed amongst those of us who could not join the host that even now winds its way to Minas Morgul,” she said, and Éowyn raised her head from where she stood, head bowed, in front of the open window.

“Aelfhild!” she cried, and clasped her arm in welcome greeting. “I feared I had been forgotten amongst the great events that have overtaken us, a wounded woman no longer fit for deeds of glory. I am glad indeed that you have found me here, for they will not yet allow me to depart.”

“You were grievous wounded,” said Aelfhild, boundless compassion in her voice. “Many feared your death, knowing the fate of your kinsman Théoden, and are glad of your continued presence in this hallowed house.”

“But I am caged,” said Éowyn sadly, “and the key is ever beyond my reach.”

"Not caged, my lady, surely not!” Aelfhild looked at her with a great gentleness in her eyes. “None can doubt the strength of your heart or the valour of your sword arm. The people sing of you, lady Éowyn, as they sing of our lords of old.”

“And yet I remain here!” She cast her eyes about the white-walled room. “They will not permit my leaving, though I am much healed. I fear, alas, that in slaying the foul Witch-King I have forfeited my freedom. No longer Éowyn, the King's sister-daughter, but the _Nazgûl_ -slayer, feted and celebrated and kept safe like a tamed beast as a symbol of the victory of the Eorlingas.” She sat heavily on a soft chair that commanded a splendid view across the gardens and over the roofs and winding streets of Minas Tirith, marred here and there by destruction where the enemy forces had pressed their advantage with skill and cunning. “I am bound to marry well, and secure an alliance, and put aside all foolish thoughts of war to fight no more,” she finished.

Aelfhild had kept silent as she spoke, but when Éowyn ceased to speak she knelt beside her chair and took the hand unencumbered by poultice and bandage in her own. “My lady,” she began.

“Nay, do not call me that.” Éowyn caressed her cheek with the fingers of her free hand, lifted with not a little difficulty from where it lay in her lap, and her touch was rough, callused hands betraying her as a rider and a swordswoman.

“Éowyn,” said Aelfhild instead, and smiled up at her in gentle reassurance. The setting sun caught in her golden hair like fire, crowning her in a blazing halo of ochre and amber copper. “You are golden indeed,” she said softly, “and beautiful, Éowyn, though you see nought but grief and injury in yourself. Our people sing of your bravery in battle even as we speak, of the loyalty to your lord that bade you follow him even unto the jaws of death itself. They would not have you caged! They would have you raised in honour to the high table of warriors and accorded all the privileges thereof.”

Then Éowyn smiled, pale but true, and looked fondly down at her companion. “Alas, Aelfhild,” she said, great sorrow in her voice. “We shield-maidens do not rank so high in the esteem of our fellow men. If they celebrate my deeds then I am glad, but- ah, I would be something more than a figurehead!” She sighed. “There is a time for bold deeds and feats of bravery, and I fear that it has passed. It is upon us to hope, and to heal. I would just that I could _do_ something – indeed, my heart cries out for it!”

“There is hope for us all, Éowyn, if we can but find our purpose as the darkness recedes.”

There was silence then in the room of healing, and the sun dipped below the horizon, and the fire around Éowyn's brow faded into cool evening shadows. Aelfhild's hand had not left hers, grasping it with a tenderness that belied the strength in her sinewed arms, and Éowyn could not help but see the ripple of firm muscles beneath the fine silk sleeves of her dress, her eyes unwittingly seeking the outline of strong thighs where she knelt on the flagstones at the foot of her chair. Her fair skin darkened to a dusky blush. “I wonder that you care so much for one you barely know,” Éowyn said then in astonishment.

“Are we not both shield-maidens of Rohan?” There was affection in her upturned face, and her eyes danced with mirth. “And besides.” She reached up with a careful hand to tuck a lock of golden hair back into place. “You are brave and beautiful, Éowyn. Is it so hard to conceive that there are those who hold you in high esteem, and would ease your sorrow?”

“Not so hard,” returned Éowyn, and rising from her chair she drew Aelfhild to her feet alongside her. “But such as those will not kneel before me. We are shield-maidens both, and therefore equals.”

Aelfhild regarded her with earnest intent, and saw that she did indeed mean the words that fell so lightly from her lips. Éowyn was cool and pale in the deep blue of the early evening, and her white gown glowed as if the Evenstar itself had imbued it with celestial light, falling in soft luminous folds from where it was gathered at her waist by a girdle of silver. Even in the half-light, her beauty was beyond dispute. “No cage could hold you,” said Aelfhild, and met her gaze with quiet resolve. With gentle fingertips she touched Éowyn's cheek and felt at once the heat of her blush that lay hidden by the grey shadows.

Éowyn took a single step closer to her companion. “This is a house of healing,” she said, wonder in her eyes, “and yet I have not felt as restored these past days as I do in this moment. Are you perhaps some creature of magic, to have such an effect?”

“Just a woman,” said Aelfhild quietly, “no more than that.”

Éowyn's smile was radiant as the dawning sun. “No more indeed,” she said, all trace of care gone for a moment from her expression. “I would ask you to stay a while, Aelfhild, if it would please you to do so. You have brought me more joy than I have felt since I was brought to this place, and I...I would not have you leave so soon.”

They stared at each other in the violet light of fading dusk, the golden-haired and the dark-haired shield-maidens of Rohan, and it seemed for a moment as if all of Middle-Earth was contained in one dimly lit white-walled room.

“I will stay,” said Aelfhild, and kissed her softly full on the mouth, and in the darkening skies about Minas Tirith the stars emerged, gleaming silver against deepest sable.


End file.
